Blue Christmas
by Writersblock42
Summary: Everyone wants Bulma to dance at the annual Capsule Corp Christmas ball, but she's got her eye on one man in particular - a Saiyan prince with a penchant for death and destruction. But the prince himself might have other ideas for the blue-haired heiress...


I don't own DBZ. If you want to read a lemony version of this, head over to A03.

* * *

The annual Capsule Corp Christmas ball was in full swing, staff and board members mingling with the standard set of high-society elitists, celebrities, entrepreneurs, and of course the odd journalist.

It was the first one that Bulma was officially single at, and although her nights for the last six months had most certainly not been spent alone, no one else knew that, and unfortunately being single at a party of this scale also meant fending off the hordes of males vying for her attention. It was something she was well practiced and adept at, but it was wearying. Why couldn't they get the picture and leave her alone?

She was here because she had to be. As vice-president of Capsule Corp, Bulma's presence was required, as was the duty to talk individually to each and every one of her guests. She could think of so many more things she'd rather be doing than keeping up meaningless chatter with a bunch of bland people who only cared about what she could do for them. Kami, she'd rather be back on Namek than here.

Bulma sighed as yet another man approached with a smarmy smile on his face. This was the worst Christmas party ever.

* * *

He watched her flitter through the room, smiling and casually chatting with each of the contemptible humans she came into contact with, her smile never leaving her face. The curve of her lips didn't meet her eyes though, something he'd learned was rare.

Vegeta gripped his ice cold glass and wondered why he'd attended this farce of a party in the first place - he couldn't think of anything worse than being trapped in an overheated room teaming with bodies with terrible music singing about snowmen and sleigh bells when it never snowed in this part of the world. He'd rather have faced Frieza again. And yet, he found himself there, albeit lurking in the corner, but dressed in human clothes and there.

He caught a glimpse of her again as she gradually made her way closer and closer to him. No, he didn't know why he'd come, but he knew why he stayed.

Her tight, shimmery red dress clung to her skin in a way that made it apparent that she wasn't wearing anything under it. Gods, she wore it like battle armour. She had the face of a warrior, eyes hard, lips deceptively gentle, hiding a tongue that would cut down her enemies.

And her enemies were numerous. Jealous colleagues who spat venom when they thought she couldn't hear, old men who disliked that she was a young woman with a high position, and men of all ages furious at her lack of interest in their half hearted attempts at wooing her.

He found his free hand clenching involuntarily as yet another man asked her to dance. As with all the others, she firmly turned them down. Vegeta slowly uncurled his fist and took a long drink of his scotch. These were her enemies, her battles, not his. To step in when she was so clearly capable of handling them herself would be a great dishonour.

So, Vegeta grabbed another drink off a passing waiter's tray and kept watching, wondering if he was different, human perhaps, and without the demons that kept him at bay, would she turn him down just as firmly if it was him asking her to dance? Or perhaps she would give him that smile - her real one that made the corners of her eyes crinkle - and then melt against him as he spun her around the room, melt around him like she had each night for the last six months in bed as she cried out his name.

* * *

Bulma kept her practised smile plastered on her face as she sipped her whiskey sour, making polite but abrupt conversation with anyone who approached, and turning down all invitations to dance.

There was only one man that she would have conceded to dance with, but as he had so cuttingly remarked when she'd tried convincing him to come, dancing was not a skill required while purging planets.

And yet, despite his protestations of not lowering himself to attend an evening with weak, pathetic humans, she'd known he was here for the last forty-five minutes, his heated gaze on her the whole time. Bulma couldn't read ki, but every time a man approached her to request a dance, she felt his gaze raking her up and down from across the room, penetrating her as though they were the only two there.

She felt his gaze again, a sure sign that someone new was about to try they luck. And sure enough…

"Bulma." Yamcha wore his easy smile - the same one that had all the woman swooning even when he had clearly been on a date with her. "Isn't this a great party? Are you having fun?"

If he knew her at all anymore, he would have known she hadn't enjoyed these parties in years.

"The best," she said sarcastically, but could tell from her ex's widening smile that her tone had gone over his head.

"Dance with me, B." Yamcha grabbed her hand. "For old times sake?"

"No, thank you." She laced the words with an edge of frostiness and extracted her hand from his.

Yamcha's face crumbled at the rejection. "Don't be like that, B. We're still friends, right?"

Bulma sighed and pinched her nose. They'd broken up eight months ago, and had both moved on - not that he had a clue about her torrid affair with the Saiyan prince - and yet he still came to every Capsule Corp event and clung to her like a lost puppy. "I just don't feel like dancing, Yamcha." She gave him the same smile she'd given every other man she'd turned down. "Excuse me, I see Lady Bolton. I need to congratulate her on winning the peace prize last week."

Yamcha opened his mouth to reply, but Bulma let the crowd swallow her up and continued her slow progress towards the side of the room that held the object of her attention. As the night had worn on, Bulma would have normally grown bored, but since Vegeta had arrived she'd found delight in playing their usual game, this dance of their own, made up of heated glances, long silences, and eventually discreet touches that would lead to so much more behind closed doors.

Bulma skipped around Lady Bolton - she'd already offered her congratulations earlier - and made her way to the end of the bar closest to Vegeta. She wasn't sure he would come to her, but the moment she ordered a new drink then leaned with her back against the bar, looking everywhere but him, she saw him out of the corner of her eye as he stepped out from the shadowy corner and stalked towards her, as graceful as a jungle cat.

Vegeta slid across the bar beside her, dressed in a midnight blue suit that looked as though it had been tailored for him - although how anyone had got him to remain still enough to take his measurements was beyond comprehension. The buttons on his jacket were undone, and his tie had been loosened roughly, giving him a slightly dishevelled, yet debonair appearance that made her want to rip his clothes off completely.

"The queen, surveying her kingdom?" He remained facing the bar, sipping on his scotch on the rocks and peering at the rainbow of liquor bottles lining the walls instead of facing her. If anyone had seen them, they would have assumed they were ignoring each other.

"Queendom, actually," Bulma corrected, picking up her fresh drink and raising her glass to her lips to hide her words, and her smile. "There's no king at my side to claim what is mine."

Vegeta glanced sideways at that, his dark gaze capturing hers with an intensity she normally only saw mid-fuck. "As if anyone could ever truly claim anything of yours that you did not wish to give."

Bulma inclined her head in agreement. She lowered her glass and took the cherry floating in it by the stalk, then ran it around the rim of her glass. When she started to place the glazed fruit in her mouth, dangling it teasingly before her lips for the briefest of moments, Vegeta moved with inhuman speed, capturing her wrist in his warm hand and pressing himself against her side.

When he leaned forward and took the cherry into his own mouth, staring at her unblinking for what felt like eternity, Bulma's breath hitched in her chest as she found herself genuinely surprised at his daring nearness.

Their relationship, if she could call whatever had been going on between them that, had one unspoken rule. Despite never once discussing it, they had both come to an understanding that outside of the cover of darkness, where the only words spoken were those of the throes of passion, they never referred to their nighttime activities.

That's not to say that Vegeta and Bulma didn't talk. They each had busy lives, him training and her in the lab or in board meetings, but they still managed to pass each other at least twice a day, tossing barbs at each other that had everyone except Bulma's surprisingly astute mother believing that they hated one another.

But here Vegeta was, pressed up close enough for her to feel his hardness against her, eye-fucking her as he chewed on that small piece of fruit, a lazy smirk on one corner of his lips, putting them both in a position that no one would have any doubts about what their relationship had evolved into.

"How much have you had to drink?" Bulma asked, dropped the stalk before placing her hand over his glass to stop him lifting it to his mouth.

"One for every man you've turned down," Vegeta said, his voice even huskier than normal.

"A human man would be comatose on the floor by now."

"Lucky I'm not human then." Vegeta gave her a lopsided smile, the only real sign that he'd been telling the truth about his consumption. "Should I order another?" He reached out and ran light fingers across her bare shoulders, making her shiver. "Will you turn me down too?"

Bulma stared at him through her lashes, soaking in his words. "Is that your way of asking me to dance?"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at her and said nothing, but she'd lived with him long enough to know that was his way of confirming it.

"Why, your highness." Bulma licked her lips teasingly, then reached out to adjust his tie. "I'm honoured that your would deign to lower yourself by dancing amongst an inferior race."

Vegeta smirked at that, and captured her hands, pulling them away from his tie. "There are so many other things I'd rather be doing with you than dancing." He leaned forward so his head fell into the crook of her neck, and he breathed in deeply before edging closer still and scraping her teeth along her neck.

"Not here," Bulma hissed, but even as she said that she arched her back and pressed closer still.

"Not here," Vegeta agreed, his voice heavy with reluctance as he pulled back. "But if I see another man place his hands on you in an attempt to drag you onto the dance floor I might be forced to blow them all up. So really, dancing with you is a way to prevent a relapse back into mass murder."

"Ah." Bulma pursed her lips and glared at him, but struggled to maintain her mock annoyance as his thumb moved in circles around the inside of her wrist. "You want to stake your claim, just like all the others."

Vegeta looked genuinely affronted at that, and dropped her hands. "I am not like any other, and you know it." He placed one hand on the bar beside her, and pressed even closer as he moved one of his legs in between hers, practically pinning her to the bar. "Besides, as I told you, no one can take what you are not willing to give."

Bulma let out a shuddering breath and placed a hand on his firm shoulder to steady herself. "And what about you?" She cocked her head and grinned at him playfully. "What are you willing to give?"

Vegeta looked almost pensive at that. "The universe is at your feet. There is nothing I could give that you could not take."

"Bulma, are you okay?" A voice behind Vegeta said, making her jump and Vegeta's face cross with annoyance.

Bulma looked over Vegeta's shoulder to see Yamcha standing there, his face pale with a sheen of sweat on his brow, but eyes set in determination. It was then that she realised just how many eyes were on her and Vegeta, and although the music was loud enough for no one to have heard their exchange she couldn't help but wonder how many people had been watching them this whole time. Vegeta must have realised it too because the lightest blush brightened his cheeks as he shifted to her side to see their audience.

"I'm fine, Yamcha," she said, pressing harder against Vegeta. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"He isn't… bothering you?" Yamcha glanced back and forth between them, his expression shifting from confusion to anger.

She laughed at that, unable to temper the sharp sound erupting from her throat. "No Yamcha, Vegeta is not 'bothering' me"

Vegeta smirked and slowly slid his arm around her, settling his palm into the small of her back. "I would argue that right now you are bothering us."

"What? But I-"

"Indeed," Bulma said loudly, cutting Yamcha off before turning to Vegeta with a sly smile. "I'd like that dance now."

* * *

Vegeta found himself on the dance floor, one arm firmly around her svelte waist, the other in her hand. Perhaps he'd drunk more than he thought, because even though he didn't have any of the normal effects of drunkenness, he knew there was no way he would have normally done this sober, especially not in front of so many people.

Still, Vegeta didn't particularly mind that the scarfaced weakling was one of the onlookers. Yamcha had lost his chance with the woman long ago, but hadn't ever truly given up. Maybe now he'd realise Bulma was no longer his to chase.

Bulma let out a soft sigh and leaned her head on his shoulder as they swayed to slow, nauseating music with a man in a deep voice singing about a blue Christmas. Vegeta had a vague understanding that Christmas was a human festive holiday celebrated by a number of countries around the world, but he hadn't known that it could take the form of different colours.

The song was rather miserable considering this was supposed to be a party, and it appeared blue had negative connotations in this context. But Vegeta rather liked blue. It was the colour of Saiyan royalty. The colour of the sky. The colour of her hair. Her eyes, staring into his.

"I have not danced since I was five," he found himself saying to distract himself from the fact that all of the eyes watching him made him want to both run and destroy at the same time.

"You don't move like it," Bulma replied, lifting her head with a smile. "I suppose dancing is like katas though. You're a natural."

He rather liked red too, he decided as he slid his hand slightly lower on her back, feeling no ridges under the silky material and confirming that there was definitely nothing under there. He let out a low growl and clutched her tighter. "I'd rather we escape from here and practise our natural talents in the bedroom."

Bulma took in a sharp breath and let go of his hand to circle both of her arms around his neck, bringing her painfully closer to him, grinding against the swell in his pants. "Yours or mine?"

"Whatever is closest," Vegeta mumbled as he wrapped his other hand around her waist, hoping she didn't move back from him at all or he would be left in an awkward position. He began guiding them through the throng of people toward the exit.

"Mine then," she whispered in his ear.

The exit in sight, Vegeta moved then faster still, but the loud voice of Bulma's mother made him stop.

"Bulma, dear. Mistletoe!" Mrs Briefs appeared near them, waving her hands in excitement. She clapped them together with a wide smile. "Oh, I hoped you'd both walk under it."

* * *

Bulma groaned internally. Things were going so well. She'd actually managed to get the withdrawn, emotionally challenged Vegeta to not only come to the damn party, but dance with her. And she was sure their own personal afterparty would blow her mind. But there was no way he'd put up with this particular custom. Just putting his hands on her to dance went against all his instincts, and she didn't think he was drunk at all, let alone inebriated enough to kiss her in front of all these people.

Vegeta frowned in confusion as everyone around them looked up at the roof and started clapping and whistling. He glanced up at the greenery tied to the rafter. "What is your daft mother blathering about?"

"Mistletoe," Bulma said nervously. At his blank stare, she continued. "It's a plant. If a couple stands under it, they are supposed to kiss… its tradition."

"Tradition..." Vegeta screwed up his nose in distaste.

"Just kiss me on the cheek or something," Bulma said under her breath. "They won't let us go until we kiss." She ran her fingers through his hair, digging her fingernails in. "And I want to get out of here."

"One kiss, and we can go…" Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her, probably trying to work out if this was some sort of elaborate trick.

"For the love of-" Bulma leaned forward to give him a peck on his cheek, but he moved at the last moment and she landed on his lips.

Vegeta's eyes widened and then fluttered closed as he opened his mouth slightly to deepen the kiss, pulling her into him until she was moaning against his lips, grabbing at his hair to hold him against her.

When they pulled back, both breathless, the crowd roared, clapping and cheering. All except Yamcha that is who Bulma spotted through the crowd, looking stricken. He was the last thing on her mind though.

"Go!" Bulma gasped at Vegeta. "Get us the fuck out of here."

Vegeta didn't waste any time, moving them through the crowd and out the door, slamming the door behind them. The moment they had escaped, their lips met again, frantically this time, and they staggered down the hallways towards her room.

Bulma giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck as they found the right door, and as Vegeta pulled fumbled with the doorknob muttering curses against her lips, Bulma decided that this was, by far, the best Christmas party ever.

* * *

 _Happy holidays everyone! Fear not, an Out of Time update isn't far away but my fingers were itching to get this out. I hope you enjoyed! If you want to read a lemony version (alternative last scene) go to A03._


End file.
